


Gâteau au Citron

by UnknowableGeometry



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Baking adventures, Cannibalism (or lack thereof), M/M, Nightmares, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Will Graham has an almost-nice day, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 03:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnknowableGeometry/pseuds/UnknowableGeometry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At Beverly’s behest, Will and his faithful companion Winston set out to make a cake for Hannibal. There are numerous problems with this, the first and foremost being that the cake contains extract of lemon, not extract of human. Oh, and Will can’t really cook, so why did he decide to bake for a master chef anyways? Because he’s been rude, and according to a sassy scientist, cake makes everything better. Unfortunately, things don't quite go as planned. Shameless fluff. The cake, after all, did not contain people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gâteau au Citron

**Author's Note:**

> Gâteau au Citron - Lemon cake. A light, fluffy, and positively delicious citrus-y dessert.

**Gâteau au Citron**

****“Wait, so let me get this straight.” Beverly’s voice was distressingly loud in the cavernous space of the morgue, and Will winced at the sharp echo of her accusation.

“No, actually, can we just forget I said anything?” he requested with a tinge of desperation. Most of his nights were now spent in restless terror, and lack of sleep apparently made him blab like a schoolgirl.

“Um, no, we can’t. You’re telling me that you kissed Alana Bloom.”

“Yes, okay, Beverly-“

“And _then_ you drove in the dead of night to tell the man who’s in love with you?” Will reeled as though the woman had forcibly struck him.

“I don’t recall ever mentioning anything about Doctor Lecter having feelings for me. So what makes you think that?” Will asked finally, when he recovered from the initial shock of her statement. Mentally, (and with a sense of growing panic) he ran through their earlier conversation, which was already a bit hazy in his exhausted brain.

“Don’t worry, it’s not something you let slip,” she said, even before he finished sorting through his foggy memories. “I’m just observant. Although honestly it’s sort of obvious…”

“Beverly.” He interrupted her as mildly as possible. “Can you please just explain to me what exactly you are talking about?”

“It’s hard to miss, Will. Your psychiatrist, or whatever he’s supposed to be, can’t keep his eyes off of you. And honestly, he brings you at least one meal a day. You sort of live really far away from him, so I’d say that’s a big deal.”

“He doesn’t bring me food every day.”

She ignored his weak defense entirely. “Anyways, apparently he won’t stop talking about you to Jack. It’s love, basically. So you go and ruin it by bragging about your little tryst with Alana.”

“Okay, fine,” he said, realizing there was nothing he could do to get out of this mess now. “If that’s the case, what do you want me to do about it?”

“Well, I’d say you’ve dug yourself into a pretty deep hole. A well-worded apology probably won’t cut it. That only leaves one option.”

“Oh God.”

“Bake him a cake. I have not known a single person who doesn’t like cake. Have it ready for him the next time he comes to visit, and he’ll know for sure that you’re sincere.”

 

           

And that was how Will ended up in his rather grimy kitchen, clutching his grandmother’s old lemon cake recipe like a lifeline. Beside him, Winston wagged his tail happily. While the other dogs napped, Will’s newest addition to the family seemed content to remain by his side. Not that he minded—any company was welcome, especially today.

“All right,” Will said. “Our plan is to have this cake finished by the time Doctor Lecter comes by for dinner tonight. That gives us exactly four hours, so we’ll have to stay focused.” Winston barked happily. “Right, so. Time to get started.” Will smoothed the ancient, yellowed piece of paper, squinting to read measurements written in flawless cursive. It was then that he realized he didn’t have any lemons. Or frosting. Or flour, for that matter.

 

 

One grocery trip later, filled with excess frustration and many an odd look from elderly spectators for a haunted-looking young man carrying an armful of baking supplies, Will ended up in exactly the same spot as before. This time, however, he was ready to begin his project in earnest. He dug through his cabinet drawers for several minutes, finally unearthing two beaten aluminum pans that were circular in shape. Setting these aside on the countertop, he pulled a medium-sized glass bowl from the shelf above his pantry. In here, he poured the ingredients without any discrimination—flour, two eggs, sugar, baking soda, water, vegetable oil, and extract of lemon—assuming that they were all going to be mixed together in the end anyways. He preheated the oven, regretting the fact that he hadn’t decided to clean it out the day before, and set about preparing the cake batter.

“You don’t think Doctor Lecter is in _love_ with me, do you?” Will asked as he cradled the bowl in one arm, stirring with the other. He glanced askance at Winston, who panted happily up at him, probably expecting scraps. “That’s what I thought too. He’s just trying to help me figure out this mess in my head. If anything, he’s a little exasperated with me.”

The baking timer rang shrilly, and Will began pouring the batter into the circular pans, attempting to even them out as much as possible. Then, he stuck them in the oven and shut the door without further ado.

“There. We still have two hours left, and that’s plenty of time to frost the cake after it cools.” He picked up the can of frosting he had retrieved during the grocery store catastrophe, smiling a little. “This is the best part, you know. My grandma loved to bake, and I always insisted on helping. Well, ‘helping’ was mostly watching and waiting until I was able to eat the leftover frosting in the can. Is that what you’re doing?” He raised an eyebrow at Winston in mock-interrogation, and then laughed and scratched the dog behind the ears.

He hoped Hannibal wasn’t infatuated with him, mostly for the sake of Hannibal himself. Will was not exactly a gentle, caring companion. He had difficulty connecting with people, and when, God forbid, he did fall for someone, he had extreme difficulty letting them go. He thought back to his night with Alana, embarrassed by his utter desperation. _Yeah, like that._ He shook his head forcefully, deciding that now was not the time to think about any of this.

“I’m going to go take a nap,” he told Winston, “So you guard the cake for me, okay?” With that, Will returned to his bed, undressed, and lowered himself onto the sheets with a grimace. They were still unchanged from the night before, and desperately in need of a washing. _Gonna have to clean these later._ He felt his eyelids lower, and moments later he was enveloped in sleep and the sweet smell of lemons and sugar.

 

_The flames licked and danced around his ankles. Panic rose in his chest—any higher and the flames would consume him, if he didn’t suffocate before then. It was already growing difficult to breath, and his lungs labored to catch any remaining oxygen in the air._

_He looked up. Around him was a roaring inferno, but he was rooted to the spot in which he stood, utterly unable to move. He heard voices and the sharp barks of panicked dogs._

I burned the house down. _The realization struck him and he struggled violently against his invisible bonds, frantically attempting to break free. Then, he registered that he was tied to a stake. Ropes snaked around his middle, holding him still so the flames could roast him alive._

He’s eating them. _The words rose in the orange-bright darkness._ He’s going to eat me. _The flames climbed further…_

 

Will jerked upright, gasping and choking. His body burned and it felt as though there was a roaring furnace behind his eyeballs. The sensation was accompanied by an unpleasant bitter smell that took a moment for him to register. Throwing aside the sweaty tangle of covers, he stumbled out of bed, making his way to the kitchen. Upon pulling open the oven door, he immediately saw two pans full of partly risen and hopelessly blackened cake batter. The sad scent of charred lemons floated into his nostrils. He had burnt the cake.

 

“Shit,” said Will.

 

Woof, said Winston

 

 _Ring,_ went the doorbell.

 

He slammed the oven closed and hurried to answer the front door. There, standing on the porch with two containers of soup balanced expertly in one hand, was Doctor Lecter. While the psychiatrist appeared as impeccable as always, Will realized he himself was wearing only his ratty t-shirt and underwear, and his hair was matted to his forehead with sweat. Hannibal studied him for a moment; then, leaning ever so slightly to the side, he sniffed the air filtering from the house.

“Is something burning?”

 

 

Several minutes later, Will sat at his kitchen table, Hannibal’s coat draped over his shoulders. He clutched it tightly as shivers overcame him, taking comfort in its heavy warmth. The fabric smelled faintly of the doctor’s fine cologne—a fleeting but altogether pleasant fragrance. His soup was growing cold in front of him, but he could not find his appetite.

“Now tell me again what happened, starting from the beginning,” Hannibal said, his voice gentle. The man sat opposite him, leaning forward over the table with concern written across his features. Will sent him a faint, dry smile.

“I was trying to bake you a cake.” His own voice trembled a bit, and he couldn’t seem to steady it. “One of my colleagues thought it might be a good idea, since I’ve been rude to you.” At this Hannibal raised his eyebrows slightly.

“Will, I am afraid I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“You know, when I drove over and barged into your house to tell you that I’d kissed Alana Bloom?” Will suddenly comprehended the utter ridiculousness of the situation. He strongly wished he had bought a cake instead. Or, better yet, he wished he had never told Beverly about the ordeal with Alana in the first place. “So I wanted to apologize, except I haven’t been sleeping, so I took a nap and burnt the apology.”

To his surprise, Doctor Lecter reached across to press his hand against Will’s forehead. “You’re running a fever again.” His touch lingered a bit too long, and Will felt the feather-light caress of a thumb across his temple. But Hannibal’s skin was blessedly cool, and he longed for the moment, no matter how strange, to continue.

“Yeah,” he murmured, because a soft voice seemed appropriate in his current position, “I had another nightmare.”

“These nightmares, they are becoming more frequent?” Will nodded against the man’s hand. “I don’t know what gave you the idea that an apology was required, but I can assure you I did not need one. However, I do appreciate the thought.” Hannibal withdrew, and Will felt feverish heat come rushing back. “May I ask what sort of cake you intended to make?”

“Lemon.” He glanced up to see that Hannibal was smiling a little.

“A simple recipe, but one of my favorites. I enjoy the way sweet and sour complement each other to create a wonderful new taste.”

“That’s, uh, what I was going for,” Will managed. Doctor Lecter stood and surveyed the disaster scene. He removed the carbonized remains of cake from the oven and set them aside.

“It appears as though you have enough left here for another cake, if you’re up for it,” Hannibal said, picking up the old recipe to study it. Before Will could answer, the doctor was already placing the glass bowl under a stream of water in the sink, still holding the piece of paper in one hand.

“Sure. Do you mind if I decide to be sort of useless?” He couldn’t seem to summon enough energy to leave his current spot, and the alternating feverish heat and chills sapped every bit of energy he had left. Hannibal did not turn, but Will saw in his profile the traces of another smile.

“Not at all,” the man said, as he set about baking the second cake with expert ease. Will observed from his place at the table, fighting to keep his eyelids from weighing down. He was afraid to sleep, mostly because he was afraid to be drawn back into the terrors his mind created for him. So he watched Hannibal move about the small, cluttered kitchen. Watched him stir the cake batter in the bowl. Watched the taught muscles of his back work smoothly beneath his dress shirt…

“Hannibal,” Will mumbled, his speech slurred with exhaustion. An instant after uttering the man’s name, he couldn’t remember what he meant to ask, or whether it was even a question. Maybe he simply wanted reassurance that he was not alone.

“Go to sleep, Will,” came Doctor Lecter’s voice from what sounded like a great distance away. “If you have another nightmare, I’ll be sure to wake you.” So sleep he did, making himself as comfortable as possible.

 

 

_Lemons and sugar._

Will inhaled deeply. _How long had he been asleep?_ He did not open his eyes. The fragrance drew him back to warm Louisiana summers and his grandmother’s small but cozy kitchen. He could have stayed like this forever, safe in his own childhood memories of a time before he had a single care in the world greater than whether or not he would get the leftover frosting from a little red can. But he felt the weight of a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him awake. _Will._

“Will.” It was Hannibal, bringing him back to the present. The doctor knelt on the kitchen floor beside his chair so their eyes were level. “You were talking in your sleep, and I was afraid your dreams had taken a darker turn. Forgive me if I was wrong.”

“No, thanks. I appreciate it.” Will blinked the sleep from his eyes and looked up to see a perfect lemon cake sitting before him on the table. He smiled crookedly. “It looks delicious, Doctor Lecter. Much better the second time around.” When he turned to face Hannibal again, he realized they were only inches apart. ( _Did he move closer?)_ The doctor had an unusual expression—eyes lowered, lips slightly parted—as though he were deep in thought or…expectation.

Unexpectedly, Will was reminded of the night he kissed Alana. He had been so lonely, so terrified. And she had looked so _kissable._

He leaned forward slowly until his lips touched the velvety softness of Hannibal’s own. He lingered this way for several heartbeats, praying that he hadn’t just made the worst mistake of his life. But then he felt Doctor Lecter trace his cool fingers up the bare skin of Will’s neck to cup his cheek. Another moment passed. And then they were kissing hard enough to draw the breath from his lungs. Hard enough to bruise.

 

He pulled away for a moment to gasp and he felt teeth graze his lip…

 

He touched the sharp planes of Hannibal’s face and found them softer than he imagined…

 

He tilted his head back and kisses showered his lips, his jaw, his neck…

 

And then the touches were gone. Will opened his eyes and saw Hannibal sitting back on his heels. The doctor hardly looked phased—his cheeks were slightly pink and his hair a bit less perfect—but still he felt compelled to apologize for what had passed. Luckily, before he could form any sort of fumbling excuse, Hannibal spoke first.

“I sincerely hope that you are not intending to drive to Alana’s and tell her about this?” Will almost wondered if Doctor Lecter was serious until he saw his wry expression.

“No. I wasn’t thinking about it at all, actually.” He felt more than a little disappointed when Hannibal stood, thereby ruining the opportunity for another kiss, but the feeling ended when the doctor sat across from him at the table and cut him a generous slice of lemon cake.

“Eat up,” he said, handing Will the plate. He did. The cake tasted even better than he remembered, filling his mouth with sugary warmth and a hint of citrus. He finished the slice in several large bites, aware of Hannibal’s gaze the entire time.

“It’s amazing,” Will said, unable to disguise the admiration in his voice. Leave it to Hannibal to make even the simplest of recipes utterly flawless.

“I’m glad you like it. And, I accept your apology.”

“My— _Oh_. Right.” He hesitated, and decided he might as well ask. “So, um, what does this mean? Are we just supposed to forget about this, or…”

“Will, it can mean whatever you want it to mean.”

“In that case, can I want it to mean that you’ll stay the night? And maybe come back for dinner tomorrow?”

 

Hannibal smiled. “Of course.”


End file.
